Bonded by Fae's Magic Read online

  Bonded by Fae's Magic

  A Shadow Lane Academy

  By:

  Amelia Wilson

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  PREVIEW: SEEKING THE ALPHA

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY AMELIA WILSON

  Copyright © 2019 by Amelia Wilson

  All rights reserved.

  http://ameliawilsonauthor.com/

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited, and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PROLOGUE

  Heat filled the room; but not the heat of a sweltering New York City summer day. It was a blaze of pure light that burned from the inside out. It started with the bones, then the muscles, then the organs, then the soul . . .

  The light poured forth from the Sentry’s mechanical, masked face like diamond-blue laser beams. When it opened its mouth, the light burst from there, too. It escaped from every seam of the steel being’s human-like construction—the shoulders, the middle, the knees and ankles and the wrists.

  Holy light. Specifically meant to destroy witches and warlocks.

  Witches, such as me.

  We didn’t know who had constructed the Sentries or who sent them continually to destroy us, but for the past ten years, the threat they posed to the magic community had grown steadily; to the point where now, hardly a day goes by without news of an attack.

  Sometimes they just destroy your power, stripping you of your magic, but sometimes, they kill.

  The Sentry neared me, its metallic feet clanging and stomping against the ground, causing ominous tremors. I tried to stop it. I tried all the spells I knew that might work against it, but I couldn’t make anything happen.

  The heat made me dizzy and weak as it invaded my mind and body. The stomps drew closer. The heat grew stronger.

  As my vision went fuzzy, I hoped it was just a nightmare . . .

  CHAPTER ONE

  Silver tendrils of scented smoke spiraled up from the dried bouquet of sage and lavender, filling my nose with a sensation of calm. Another deep breath in and a long exhalation out through my lips; but my nerves weren’t settling easily.

  A voice from behind made me jump out of my skin., even though it was the most familiar voice in the world to me.

  “Another smudge stick?” Iris asked with a breathy chuckle, after the question.

  “Shush,” I warned her, waving the smoking bundle of herbs toward her as she approached.

  “Didn’t you already do one this morning, Mari?” she asked; her perfect, pale face twisting into a screwy grin.

  “I did,” I admitted, my voice dropping to an almost inaudible volume.

  She cocked her head at me, “Is this about the meeting?” she asked.

  I nodded, and my throat went tight and mouth dry.

  Our father, the headmaster and a member of the founding family of Shadow Lane Academy, had called an emergency staff and student assembly. This never meant anything good and it definitely didn’t mean anything good for me. As one of the academy’s lead teachers, I had failed miserably at performing one of the most essential tasks of the modern magic-using community. Sure, I could lecture on the theory behind it all day, and a few of my students had become proficient in the skills themselves, but when it actually came to fighting or destroying Sentries myself, I couldn’t do it. As the Sentries posed a greater and greater risk to Shadow Lane with every passing day, I had known that my lack of ability would catch up with me—and soon.

  “He’s not going to fire you, Marigold,” Iris groaned in a maternally exasperated tone, flopping down on my bed.

  I hated when she took that tone. I was older than her by nearly three years. Just because I was a nervous wreck half the time did not mean I needed my twenty-three-year-old baby sister to look after me. Certainly not after all the looking after I’d done of her, over the years.

  “You don’t know that,” I sighed, shaking my head.

  “Whatever,” she muttered.

  My skin crawled with anxiety. Suddenly, breathing normally seemed the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  “You know I can put a calming spell on you, right?” Iris offered, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her hand. She surveyed me with mild concern.

  “Last time you used your calming spell on me, you put me to sleep for twelve hours.”

  A grin threatened to split her lips and she puckered them together to keep from breaking what I assumed would be hysterical laughter. “You were calm though. . .” she started.

  “Oh, shut up!” I snapped. I picked up a satin pillow from my vanity seat and launched it at her face. She caught it and rolled onto her back, letting the bottled up laughter escape her.

  “Someday when you’re a lead teacher, you’ll get it.” I argued.

  “I don’t want to be a teacher,” she said.

  “Ha!” I barked. “Like father would ever let that happen.”

  “I’ve already talked with him about it,” she said with a shrug. “He said as long as you’re a lead teacher, I can do other stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “Travel, research,” she started off with, but I knew what was coming. She shrugged again and averted her eyes to drop the last bit. “Defense. . .”

  I knew it.

  “I doubt he’ll let you run off to fight Sentries, Iris,” I countered.

  There was another shrug of her slender shoulders. “I guess we’ll see.”

  “Well, I guess we really will,” I sighed. “If your ability to do what you want rests on my position as a lead teacher, I think your freedom is in peril.”

  She hauled herself up to a sitting position and slid off the bed. She stepped around to the foot of my bed, where she placed the violet satin pillow I’d thrown at her on the bench that sat there. “Why are you so dramatic?” she groaned.

  “Why are you so carefree?” I retorted, catching her emerald eyes.

  We stared each other down for a split second before her familiar smirk changed her face into a corkscrew that accentuated all her features—wiry lips framing a wide mouth and high, striking cheekbones sitting atop a thin, rectangular face. Her bright, twinkling eyes seemed to shift and shimmer like a conjured emerald snake as you watched them.

  I had always felt bland in comparison to my sister. Her midnight-black hair, pale skin and magical green eyes were intriguing and unique. She was wiry and toned from all her time in the practice arena. Her whimsy and humor, along with her physical allure, caught the attention of every newcomer to Shadow Lane. She brushed them off or had her way with them one by one.

  “Touché,” she said finally. “But I bet you fifty bucks he’s not firing you.”

  I couldn’t help but grin back at her, finding a strange and ironic humor in the idea of betting on my career and future. “I’ll take that bet.”

  She reached her slender hand out and I took it. We shook firmly
, overly firmly, with attempts at serious faces—something we always did when we made bets or deals. Really, we were mocking the gravity of the handshakes we had seen our father making as we were growing up—before we broke into hysterics at the long-running inside joke.

  My phone chirped from my vanity. “Damn,” I rasped, cutting off my laughter.

  It was a reminder for the meeting. Half an hour.

  “Fifty bucks,” Iris said, holding up a finger as she backed out of my room. “See ya there.” She blew me a kiss and disappeared into the hallway toward her room.

  I picked the still-smoking smudge stick up out of the bronze dish I’d set it in and took inhaled its scents deeply, once more.

  I needed as much calm as I could get.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As I walked into the Great Hall, where Shadow Lane Academy held all of its assemblies, I silently wished I had taken Iris up on another attempt at a calming spell. My heart raced, as my gaze traveled over all of the witches and warlocks, each of whom was eyeing me, in return, as if they knew something about me that I did not.

  Except I did. I did know how hopeless I was at Sentry defense. I did know how big of a problem that was. I did know that my father was going to have to do something about it, sooner rather than later . . .

  I climbed the small flight of steps onto the stage to join my father, Headmaster Forrest Greymore, and the other lead teachers, taking my usual seat near his podium. A man I didn’t recognize sat at the far side of the stage, but I was too nervous to dwell on it.

  Probably my replacement, I thought with a hollow feeling as I sank into the hard oak chair next to the ancient head professor, Tristan Marsh, who always occupied the seat to the right of my father.

  An exchange of quiet voices created a constant low hum in the hall, and I looked out over the crowd of my teaching colleagues and students, my heart rate rising steadily as I did. They weren’t looking at just me. Many of them stared and pointed at the man on the other side of the podium. Several looked slightly afraid of —or intimidated by—him. A few gestured back and forth between the two of us.

  I swallowed hard and slouched into my chair, wishing I had a stiff drink in my hand. Or, better yet, that I was anywhere but here, with a stiff drink in my hand.

  I have a spell for that. My lips curled a little at the thought. Who needs a calming spell, when I have a teleport to the tropics and conjure an appletini spell?

  I’d only used the tropical teleport once and it had taken me to Cuba, during the 2008 elections following Fidel Castro’s resignation. I’d been so enthralled with the politics and watching history in the making, that I hadn’t spent any time relaxing or enjoying the tropical landscape.

  But I used the conjure an appletini spell all the time; weekly, at least.

  A deep breath put a tiny but noticeable damper on the thousand thoughts racing through my mind, and my father took the podium, clearing his throat.

  “Good morning,” he said. His voice was scratchy and tired, as it always was when he had stayed up all night talking—something he did often. I studied his face, detecting the touches of exhaustion upon it: blueish purple under the eyes and more whiskers on the jaw than he usually allowed. A drooping to his usually staunch cheekbones (Iris had definitely gotten some of her more striking features from him) and tenseness in his neck, which drew his shoulders up and tilted his head slightly forward.

  My mind went to the worst possible scenarios again. He’s about to do something difficult for him. He stayed up through the night debating what to do.

  This is it. The job I love—I worked my whole life for—I failed at it . . .

  “I appreciate everyone coming on a Saturday morning,” he continued, but it barely registered over the swell of dread that had formed inside me, like a roaring ocean crashing against my head in tidal waves. “As you all know, the threat of Sentry aggression grows every day, and no coven or academy is immune to its reach and its power—not even us.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iris sneak in through the same doors I had come in from. She made her way to her spot in the second row, among the teachers’ assistants, where she stopped dead in her tracks and stared. I followed her line of sight to the man on the opposite side of the podium from me. When I looked back at her, she slowly traversed past the other assistants to her seat with her mouth gaping and her eyes still glued to their target.

  Who is this guy? I thought.

  “We are small, but we are not insignificant. Not in my eyes, and certainly not in the eyes of the Sentries,” Father continued. “Though we do not have the numbers some covens or academies do, we have impressive power; impressive skill. We constantly grow and improve, expanding past my own perceived limits. The gifts, resilience and fortitude of this student body and its teaching staff astound me on a regular basis. For that I applaud you.”

  He reached his hands out over the podium and clapped them together loudly, and the entire Great Hall joined him in a round of applause.

  “But,” he sighed and looked down at the podium tableau, “we must improve more, strive further, work harder than ever, if we are going to defend ourselves against these monstrosities that seek to destroy our way of life. That is why I have brought you all here today.”

  This is it, I thought again, my stomach turning into a hot pit of bubbling dread.

  “I know we only started our semester recently, but I am shifting all the curricula to have a heavier focus on magical defense and combat,” he announced.

  Murmurs and whispers rippled through the hall.

  “To accommodate this shift in focus, I will also be making some changes in staff.”

  This is definitely it.

  He cleared his throat again and his shoulders tensed. “Iris Greymore is promoted to Lead Teacher, Sentry Defense.”

  My eyes found her in the second row. I couldn’t make out her expression. She wanted to go into defense. She loved it. But she didn’t want to teach . . .

  She also still seemed completely distracted by that man; so distracted that she didn’t even acknowledge the smattering of applause at her promotion.

  “Mistress Iris’s classes will be in addition to those already under the instruction of Master King, so every student has a defense class available to them,” Father explained. “And as for combat, which is strictly a recreational class currently, I will be assigning four instructors.”

  I heard several gasps. I agreed with them. Four combat instructors? I knew things were serious, but four?

  “The following existing instructors will be incorporating a combat-intensive curriculum into their class blocks,” he said, and then looked to his right, at me and Tristan, “Master Marsh and Mistress Marigold Greymore.”

  What?!

  My head spun. I’m not getting fired?

  No. It was almost worse. I have to teach more of the thing I’m terrible at?

  “To assist our beloved and talented lead teachers in this intense undertaking, I would like to introduce two new staff members to Shadow Lane,” he continued. More murmurs, whispers and gasps from the crowd. My father gestured to his left. “Mistress Layni Black and Master Crew Wrathshore.”

  A small group of students from the back of the hall jumped to their feet and clapped loudly, one even cheering, “We love you, Crew!”

  Half the hall joined in, rising to their feet and applauding the man. He stood briefly and took an awkward bow, then sat back down with a soft smile on his face.

  Obviously, I had missed out on something, I thought to myself as my eyes flicked back and forth between Crew Wrathshore—whoever he was—and his adoring fans.

  Gesturing for the crowd to quiet, Father continued. “Yes, yes, many of you are familiar with Master Wrathshore’s impressive achievements and I am happy to announce that he will be partnering with my daughter, Mistress Marigold, while Mistress Black—an accomplished combat veteran in her own right—will be assisting Master Marsh.”

  “I hope you are all as excited as I
am about these new additions, and as optimistic as I am that Shadow Lane will triumph over all our challenges,” he boomed, pointing back toward the coat of arms behind him on the wall above the stage. Shadow Lane Academy’s motto was Prosperity through Challenge. The hall erupted with cheers and applause and, after my father’s announcement of “a special brunch in the dining hall and dismissal,” they slowly dispersed.

  Still reeling, I found it hard even to stand from my chair. My father approached and reached out for my hand. When I took it, he pulled me up and tilted his head at me.

  “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t have time to include you in this decision,” he apologized. “It had to be made as soon as possible. I’m sure you understand.”

  I nodded, and then I shook my head.

  “No, I really don’t,” I said.

  His face scrunched and his head tilted further toward his tense shoulders.

  “Marigold,” his voice turned slightly more stern and paternal, “you know we have to do whatever it takes to stop this—I really thought you could put aside your penchant for formalities and procedure—”

  “Dad, that’s not it,” I rasped. “I mean I don’t understand why you would put me in charge of this, if it’s that important. I’m terrible at combat!” I dropped my voice, even though I knew everyone was fully aware of my lack of combat skills. “I’ve never even put so much as a scratch on a Sentry. You know that!”

  “That’s why I’ve brought in an expert,” he said with a hint of pride.

  “Then let the expert do it!” I argued.

  “He didn’t want to take lead. He has no experience teaching; you do.” He grabbed my shoulders and squeezed them. “You are an amazing teacher, an immeasurably talented witch, and I know that you will master any skill you need to in time, while passing on your learning to your students in a way that few can manage.” With a final pat on my shoulder, he finished our brief interaction and then placed his finger on my nose as if I were a preschooler. “Prosperity through Challenge.”